In The Firing Line
by jenthetrulysly
Summary: [Work in Progress] There is more than meets the eye when Five-O arrive at the scene of a bank robbery in downtown Oahu and one of them ends up right in the firing line of vengeance.
1. Chapter 1

It had all seemed so simple then but looking back on it, it was nothing but foolish overconfidence, and the price had been too high to pay. It was a price that Steve McGarrett couldn't afford, yet he went ahead with it anyway, ignoring the very real possibility that things could get ugly very fast and that a life was on the line. A life that meant more to him than he could ever express in words. Someone that had somehow become something suspiciously like a close friend.

It was a decision that would come back to haunt him in the darkest of days, more than he could ever let on, even after all this time. If he had the chance to wind back the clock to when this all started, then he would have acted differently and ended things differently.

He looked at the scene in front of him for the longest time, before turning his back and walking away. There was nothing else to be said, no words of comfort he could give, because this was all his fault, and there was nothing he could to set things right again.

_xxxxx_

"There's no way that McGarrett is going to send in his boy toy to us. He freaking loves the guy too much," the first masked man yelled as he shoved all the men into the vault out back. Once they were all sequestered in the vault out back he shoved the heavy steel and cement door shut with a loud bang before heading back to the front of the bank where his partner was.

They had barricaded the front doors with the chairs at the desks and pulled all the blinds partially closed to stop any potential storming of the building in any case. They were effectively locked in for the long haul, and there was no turning back now.

"Shut up, Findlay," the second masked man growled loudly as he tightened the rope around the hands of the female bank worker pressed with her front against the wall. He resolutely ignored her soft whimpers and crying before flipping her around roughly, staring into her tear-streaked face and enjoying the sight of those huge warm brown eyes widen in fear.

It was intoxicating. He was close enough to smell the strong smell of her flowery perfume and let his eyes travel down the length of her tight fitting blouse to where her nametag rested at a modest height.

"Eleanor," he breathed, cupping the powdered face with a rough hand, enjoying the feel of soft skin under his fingers. He made sure that she could feel the cool metal of the gun against her cheek; a soft reminder of the violence he could inflict against her. She instinctively tried to back away but she was trapped between him and the wall. He leered at the vee of her collared blouse where white, creamy skin was exposed-

"Keep it in your pants, Fletcher," Findlay said, amused, "you can play with Barbie once we're done."

"Oh, I can't wait." Fletcher replied, before brushing her long blond hair aside and leaning in close enough that his lips brushed against her ear with every word. "I'll have my fun later. Don't try anything; I'll chop you into little pieces if you do." He made a movement to stand up and watched her cry softly for a few moments, clearly incapacitated by her own fear.

"So you really think he's going to come?" Findlay asked again, before surveying the row of female hostages sitting on the floor. His grey eyes then moved to Fletcher, who went to stand facing his side, such that he could keep an eye on the happenings outside.

"I know he will," Fletcher replied, "and we'll be here to greet him when he does."

_xxxxx_

"I need backup!" the Oriental detective was saying into the mouthpiece with increasing urgency, as he turned around to see his boss, "we've got at least twenty three hostages in there and one has definitely been shot. Over."

It had been an hour since the first gunshot rang out in the bank and Five-O had arrived on the scene a mere fifteen minutes after that. They had a row of blue and white squad cars parked across the car park at the front of the bank, forming a tentative metal and glass shield. They were in the communications van at the back, and Chin was on the radio requesting additional back when McGarrett approached him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He cut off the transmission before turning around to face Steve properly.

"Chin," Steve greeted, "any demands from the gunmen?"

"Not yet Steve," he replied, as Steve moved to sit down on an empty chair next to Chin. "All contact has been through the main phone line inside the bank. We don't have a way to get them to tip their hand."

"So it's a waiting game then," the lead detective thought out loud, "we just have to try and force them to tip their hand. Has there been any communication between us and them?"

"No," Chin answered shortly, before seeming to consider this answer then added, "unless you count the souvenir they sent us to show that they meant business."

Steve shook his head. To prove that they were serious they had shot a bank teller at close point range in the head then all but threw his body down from the second storey of the bank building to land in a mangled heap at the bottom. It was a meaningless loss of life, but there was no doubt that they had an agenda and were not above to resorting to needless violence to achieve it.

That made the whole situation all the more deadly.

"We've got an ID for these gunmen so far?" Steve asked.

"Not yet. As you can see we don't have a direct line of sight to the inside, seeing as they have drawn the blinds. It's too dark to see into the bank from the small space of the front door. I'm getting Che over here to try and lift some prints from the dead man in the hopes that it will tell us who we are up against."

"Good, Chin. Very good." The lead detective stood up and clapped Chin on the shoulder once more. He was about to add something before Duke leaned over, saying that there was an important call on the radio from Danny.

"As soon as you have a positive ID then let me know. First priority," Steve instructed.

"Right."

Steve then took the offered headpiece and handset that Duke passed him, before answering in a gruff voice.

"McGarrett."

"Steve," Danny's voice filtered through the static filled airwave, "the HPD computer's just finished its analysis of all of the crooks on the system based on MO and crimes. Ben and I are going over them now and we'll have a list of likely suspects prepared in a few hours."

"Get cracking," Steve barked, "the sooner we know who we're dealing with the faster we can end the thing."

"Yes, Steve. Please be careful," Danny said.

"Once you're done, come out here with your best educated guess."

"Will do, Steve."

_xxxxx_

It was dark in the room; almost pitch black but not quite. A small sliver of light snuck past the gap between the vault door and the floor, such that the men were able to make out shapes and movement. The air was thin and they each suspected that there was the very real possibility that they may suffocate to death in here. There were half a dozen grown men in this cramped vault, and panic started clawing its way up into conscious thought. In the perfect silence each breath was thunderously loud, until the silence was shattered by one of the men.

"Shhh! I think I hear footsteps," a soft, reedy voice whispered into the darkness.

"You idiot, this vault is soundproof and bombproof. We could have a freaking party and the dunderheads outside will be none the wiser," a sarcastic drawl enunciated loudly, and it didn't take much to visualise the rolling of eyes accompanying it. "You-"

"Be quiet," a more authoritative voice barked out, and silence fell like a smothering drape over them again. "From memory there is a vent somewhere in this vault which merges with the central unit."

"Mr Dawson," a younger voice interjected, "we can barely see each other as it is. How are we going to locate this vent, then unscrew it?"

"Concentrate on finding the vent first," Mr Dawson replied, "Patrick just run your hands around the walls, feeling for the grills, once you find them we'll decide what to do next."

"Yes, sir." There were the muted sounds of scuffling as Patrick put his hands in front of him and began to feel the cool walls to try and find this vent. Most people echoed his movements and ran their hands against the walls, searching for that elusive needle in the haystack, because it was the only thing they could to do take their minds off the impending situation. Collectively there was no doubt that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better. Maybe if they tried hard enough then they could make it out of here alive.

Squinting into the brightness of the midday sun, Findlay could make out no disturbance in the surroundings. It looked exactly how it did this morning, when they had stormed the place, except for the row of police cars parked in front of the bank. They had an audience but there was no interest, or it was half-hearted, at best. What was needed was something to kick of the show with a bang to grab their attention.

"Get on with it already we don't have all day," Findlay growled in irritation as he peered out from behind the blinds.

His eyes raked the windows and the roof of the commercial building across the street for any sign of police snipers. It was still early, and he was not surprised to find none. Feeling rather relieved, he released the blind and turned around to head back to one of the chairs directly at the front of the hostages and watched Fletcher weave his magic.

The other man eyed each of the witnesses carefully; a sadistic grin was the only thing making his delight at the upcoming task evident. It was time to implement the next part of the plan and this was the part that he was really looking forward to, something that he had complete control over. Findlay really hated anything involving blood and death but he had no such qualms. Fletcher had full control over this aspect of things, and he _thrived _in it.

At the moment he was still deliberating whether to use a man or a woman for this. He was leaning towards killing a woman at this stage, purely for the shock value and that it would show the pigs that they were very serious about all of this; that they would not stop at any means to get what they wanted.

There was a mixture of young girls and older woman ranging in attractiveness. He looked to each of their faces, chuckling softly at how they were trying to do that not quite meeting one's eyes and watching them at the same time thing.

"Come on, just pick one already," Findlay urged impatiently.

"Don't rush me," Fletcher growled. If he was going to do this he better pick the right one. His hungry eyes settled over Eleanor briefly, and he had half a mind to kill her just to see her prettily on her knees with the tears streaming nonstop, begging for mercy, it was such a delicious thought that he felt a shiver of pleasure run up his spine.

But she wasn't the right one for this part of the plan. They needed someone whose death was going to kick up a fuss, and Eleanor while being very attractive, was not important enough to serve their purposes. A glint of gold caught his attention and he finally made up his mind. He reached out and hauled the woman up onto her feet, ignoring her feeble protests as he clicked the safety off his gun and dug it into the small of her back. The action caused the woman to go rigid abruptly.

Feeling decidedly cruel he nudged her with the gun before growling, "Come on, keep walking straight and you won't get hurt."

"Please, oh, please," the woman begged in between sobs and harsh breaths, "I..I…"

"If you don't shut up I will end up shooting the teeth out of your pretty little mouth. Get going." Fletcher cut across.

The woman barely controlled her shaking as the walked in a straight line, before Fletcher told her to climb the stairs leading up to the back offices. Her high-heeled shoes clacked loudly, a constant reminder of the imminent danger that was getting closer with each step up the dark wood stairs.

At the top of the stairs the woman started shrieking at the top of her voices as she sank down onto her knees, unable to go on. She pulled her legs close into her body and wrapped her arms around them in a futile attempt to stop the tremors of fear wracking through her. She was dizzy and so scared that she might faint. She looked at Fletcher, trying to plead to his sense of humanity, but a horrible cold sensation rushed over her when she looked into those hard dark eyes of his and could see the edge of dangerous mental instability there; it was clear that the man had a hair-trigger temper and it wouldn't take much for him to start shooting.

"Please," she sobbed brokenly, "please…"

Fletcher raised the gun level to an acceptable height, before squeezing the trigger. The resounding gunshot noise was loud enough to wake the dead, and he congratulated himself for a job very well done.

_xxxxx_

Danny had just stepped out of the car opposite the bank when the gunshot rang out, crossing the street he joined the gaggle of policemen milling around. Collectively they charged forward, falling in step alongside the second-in-command as they hoped for the best, but expected the worst.

However they abruptly stopped when Steve peeked out of the communications van and made a 'hold off' movement.

"No one get's any closer! We don't know who we are dealing with and I will not risk the life of any of my men." The lead detective stepped down and joined Danny before extending his hands for the white envelope the detective had clutched in his hands.

"For all we know, they may be expecting us to do something stupid," Danny admitted after a few moments of thought.

"Yeah," Steve replied, turning to look at the younger detective, "but that's not going to happen. I won't let any of my men fall into the firing line. Simple as that."


	2. Chapter 2

**_In the Firing Line Chapter 2_**

_AN - Muchos gracias for all the lovely reviews! I'm currently laughing myself silly. If you'd like to find out why, just go to my LiveJournal (link in the profile) and read the 3rd post from the top called 'You Can See It From Afar, We Were Riding That Wave.'_

_I'm sure you'll find Guest's antics just as, if not more funny then I do. _

Following the second gunshot things got a lot busier around the perimeter of the bank. McGarrett couldn't help but shake his head at all this needless violence. Something had to be done about it and it had to be done now. The back up that Chin had requested finally arrived and the lead detective was distinctly annoyed at the lack of HPD snipers there. Given that anyone storming the front of the bank building would be instantly shot down, they really didn't have that many options. The tension of the situation exacerbated by the fact that someone might have been shot and bleeding to death, or close to death. They needed to verify whether this person had been hit, and if so, were they still alive. The best bet as things stood now was for the HPD snipers to take down the men when the opportunity arose.

"Where are the HPD snipers?" Steve asked Chin, coming inside the communications van. Accompanied by Danny, the two senior detectives made their way inside and sat down on the two vacant chairs in the back. "Tell Chief Dann we need some."

"Already requested." the Oriental detective confirmed, "They're getting some more in from the other side of the island. They should be here in about one hour or two, at the most."

"That's too long!" Danny interjected, "It's only been one hour since this thing started at already we've got one person dead and a second gunshot. We have no way of knowing if anyone's been hit!"

"Easy, Danno." McGarrett soothed, turning to look at his Second-In-Command, "They're on their way already. Any word on who the dead bank teller is yet?"

"Yeah, we've got the word." Chin confirmed, as he moved to grab a sheaf of papers lying to his right, "Pulled the employee files for the Bank of Oahu and the dead man is George Novak. 32 years of age, bank teller, unmarried. We're having HPD check his records but so far it looks like he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. We haven't even been able to get the body out of the front of the bank yet."

"We need to get the body out of there as soon as possible." Steve confirmed.

"Why? It's obvious that George Novak died from a gunshot wound to the forehead at point blank range. No need for an autopsy."

"But…" Steve began, before he decided on a different approach, "It's better if I show you. Come with me, gentlemen." As a unit, the three members of Five-O exited the van and went past the squad cars and around the corner, before they paused momentarily behind the brick wall of the restaurant next to the Bank. McGarrett peered cautiously around the corner, before nodding his head and turning around to indicate to Chin and Danny to come closer.

Chin looked around the corner first, the detective taking a few moments to sweep the scene. Anyone looking at the bank wouldn't have been able to tell that there was something wrong at first, except for the obviously mangled and bloodied body of George Novak lying face down on the ground. He swallowed; the man had clearly been beaten viciously before his death. From the distance he could make out deep purple bruises, gashes and the dead man's clothes were ripped and torn in several places. George's limbs were also bent at funny angles and it looked like a bit of shattered bone was piercing the skin, causing a puddle of blood to pool around the man.

Danny went next. He looked and saw that a thorough job had been done on the bank teller as well, but other than show that the hostage takers were deathly serious and had a borderline psychopathic disregard for human life, what else was there? What was Steve seeing that they didn't? The young man turned around and looked first at Chin, who looked about as confused as he was before he directed his gaze to Steve. Then it hit him.

George was beaten to a bloody pulp before his death. That meant that someone had to be standing at close range to him and using their fists and feet. Where there were fists there were bound to be fingerprints, and where there was manhandling of a body then it was possible that perhaps a sliver of skin or a strand of hair had caught somewhere, and that could be used to identify who they were dealing with. Understanding dawned, and he couldn't help but grin. "Maybe the hostage takers left something behind there, something that we can use to identify them."

Chin looked puzzled. "Leave something behind? What could they-"

"It's clear that they might have used their bare fists." Danny rambled on, "George could have fought back, maybe gotten a bit of hair or skin under his nails. Either way, they can be used to ID who we are dealing with. Know what we're up against."

Nodding slowly, the Oriental detective confirmed his understanding. "If that's the case we need to get that body out of there and back for Che to examine."

"Che can come out here and-" the younger detective began but was cut across by Steve.

"He can't." Steve disagreed, "We still don't know who we are dealing with. We don't know if when someone goes in to retrieve the body they will be shot or not. It's too dangerous for the moment. He can collect samples, but I think he needs the entire lab to find something."

"I'll go call for a wagon to take the body to the morgue then, and I should call Doc just in case, tell him to be ready to conduct an autopsy." Danny replied, "Maybe something in the way he was killed might tell us who the killer was."

"Good thinking, Danno." Steve complimented with a soft nod. He watched his Second-In-Command turn around and head towards the communications van before tilting his head to the side to look at Chin, who looked deep in thought. "What's the matter, bruddah?"

The portly detective looked up, clearly reflexive. "What if the killer wore gloves, or a knuckleduster? There would be no prints on the body."

"It's a lead." McGarrett said slowly, before he sighed. "And I have a feeling that the boys we are dealing with want to be found out." He glanced in the general direction of the bank, "They're toying with us; I think we're in for a show before they decide to really get down to business."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Peering intently through the curtains, Findlay could make out the three detectives as they looked around the corner to the front of the bank at the body they had left at the front of the bank earlier. The midday heat would soon be upon them and the flies would be swarming, which would be nice. His eyes locked onto the familiar head of curly hair that he had seen in so many pictures and on television then felt a shiver of excitement run up his body at all the things that they were going to do to the pig once they got their hands on him.

"They're falling for the bait." He drawled slowly, before pulling the blinds down and turning around to look at his accomplice and laughed, "I can tell they're just itching to retrieve the carcass and get around to dismembering it to try and find out who we are. Right, Fletcher? _Fletcher?_"

The other man was staring at the blood rapidly seeping onto the floor in front of him. Fletcher had decided to go for shock value and shoot the woman in the leg where the bone was. He had aimed it at the abdomen initially, planning it to be a death shot, but at the last minute had decided against it and fired the gun, intending the bullet to lodge in the shoulder, which it did. The woman's shriek has cut through the air and turned all the hairs on the back of everyone's necks up, and since then she had been lying in a bloodied huddle and crying softly as she clutched her shoulder in agony.

"Why? WHY?!" she screamed as the tears fell down from her face. They were from a combination of both pain and sadness. Her heart was racing and she began to feel very hot. She sagged against the railing of the stairs, before scrunching her eyes shut. Maybe if she tried hard enough she could wake up from this nightmare.

Fletcher snorted. "Come on, princess. That don't hurt, I didn't even hit your lungs. Imagine the pain if I did. Every breath causing a new kind of agony, drowning in your own blood-"

"Fletcher!" Findlay cut across impatiently, "Stop waxing poetic already."

"Please…" the woman sobbed between ragged, harsh breaths, "Why are you doing this? Why did you shoot me? I have children to look after, what am I going to do?"

"Grin and bear it." Fletcher replied coldly as a wide grin broke out across his face, "Look on the bright side sunshine, you aren't dead." He advanced onto the woman who was doing her best to move backwards as fast as she could. He seized her up by her shoulders, taking great care to press hard where the bullet was lodged and waves of fresh white-hot pain rolled over her.

She tried to struggle weakly against him but he was too strong, and she was too weak and powerless to stop him from bringing her back down the stairs before throwing her down on the ground next to the other hostages. There was a combined flinch as her body slammed down onto the ground with a sickening crack and the other hostages tried to edge away from her. The stench of fresh blood and fear was in the air and it made his nose tingle in anticipation, much like how it does before a sumptuous feast. At this stage the woman had gone completely limp, her head lolling around on the floor like a ragdoll's. It didn't take a deductive genius to know that she had succumbed to the darkness of unconsciousness when the pain became too much.

"Now you all know." Fletcher announced at large, taking a wide sweeping gaze of the room before fixing his eyes on Eleanor, who was crying softly in the corner. Her legs were splayed tantalizingly open and he could see the silk smooth skin of her thigh. His fingers itched to run across it, and his mouth wanted to mark the canvas of skin there. The man licked his lips in anticipation, before letting his gaze return to the others, "Don't piss me off, or else you will all get it."

From the outside, someone was speaking at them through a megaphone, and both men rolled their eyes, "We have the place completely surrounded. Give yourselves up before things get any worse!"

With a quick look at his watch, Findlay nodded his head and slid off the chair propped against the front window to walk over to the telephone sitting on one of the loan managers' desks and began to dial as he sat down on the relatively plush office chair. He drummed his fingers upon the wood of the desk as he waited for the line to connect, a nasty smile on his face.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I think I've almost got it loose," Patrick replied as he slowly twisted the screw from the vent. Through a sheer stroke of luck they had fumbled in the darkness and were able to find the vent. Gradually, their eyes had adjusted and they were able to make out shadows of movements and try to avoid bumping into each other needlessly.

In the sterling silence everyone collectively held their breath; each twist of the screw as it came loose from the plate it held onto the wall was ominously loud, and they all prayed that the hostage takers had not heard them so far.

"That's good Patrick." Mr. Dawson replied, amazed that no one could hear his heart beating; to him it seemed louder than thunder, "Keep going." He felt inside his pockets for his handkerchief, extracting it to dabble at the beads of sweat that dotted his forehead. Exhaling a steady breath, he moved forward to try and get the third screw out. They had managed to get one out and if they continued to work at it then they might be able to get the vent open and fresh air coming in. He had no idea how much time had passed but it was getting stiflingly warm and the air was too thin for comfort.

At first they had tried to force the grills of the vent open to allow more air in, but that hadn't worked. However, as they tried to unscrew the vent Daryl was running his hands across the surface of the vent along the edges, trying to find any other screws that needed to be loosened. He didn't want to die in this locked bank vault, he had to do something to try and stop the desperation that was ratcheting up relentlessly, otherwise he might snap. Carefully keeping his hands from shaking as much as possible, he continued to run his hands along the vent, then along the wall to try and find something, _anything, _that can be of use to them.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"We have the place completely surrounded. Give yourselves up before things get any worse!" McGarrett roared into the megaphone as he stood behind the brick wall. The communications have had been moved closer to the police car barricade but out of direct line of sight from the bank's front entrance. The row of police cars had steadily crept forward, forming a barrier at the front of the car park. The Head of Five-O lowered the megaphone and raised his head a bit higher to see more clearly. There was no movement; no recognition if the words he had just spoken. He squinted into the distance to try and ascertain any sort of change, but Chin's voice snapped him out of his focus.

"Steve, get in here _wiki wiki_!" the Chinese detective ha yelled as he hopped out of the communication's van and ran towards McGarrett, "we have them on the line now!"

Dropping the megaphone to the ground with a resounding crash the lead detective dashed passed the older detective into the communications van and seized the headset up. At that stage Danny pressed a button on a recording machine and they began to record the hostage-takers' message.

"McGarrett." He spoke clearly into the mouthpiece. Before he could say anything else the flat male voice on the other side made the demand, and the detective felt his heart start to beat faster, as if he had just finished a sprint.

He looked up to Danny, whose face was beginning to pale rapidly. This was not what he had expected; he looked onto his closest friend's face, seeking some sort of understanding. There was the initial shock, but then cold dread bloomed in the pit of his stomach as the shock morphed into understanding and finally acceptance. The lead detective could only look on in horror as Danny allowed himself a self-deprecating grin before he brought a hand to rub at the back of his head; a tic that indicated to McGarrett that he was very anxious about the latest turn of events. The young man wasn't the only one nervous though. There were so many ways this could go wrong and yet their hands were tied for the moment being, and Steve _really_ hated the powerlessness that flowed on from that.

"Williams for the hostages. These are our terms."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Williams for the hostages. These are our terms."

Looking to the man in question, Steve tried to keep his voice level as he attempted to keep the man on the line for as long as possible. At that stage he felt a pen pressed and the coolness of paper slide under his hand. He looked up in time to see Danny quickly move back to his side. Nodding his head in thanks, the lead detective asked, "What would you want with Danny Williams?"

Findlay exhaled a breath and continued in an icy voice. "It doesn't matter. All you need to do is deliver Danny Williams to us and we will release the hostages. You have one hour."

"He is on the Big Island at the moment, there is no way he can get here in one hour. He will be back in about two to three hours." McGarrett stated. He barely flinched when the sounds of a third gunshot rung out and there were screams in the background.

"You have one hour and no more. For every ten minutes that pass by after that hour, another shot will ring out," the other man confirmed. He let his voice drop down to a purr before continuing. "Oh, you're more than welcome to collect the souvenir we left for you at the front of the bank. We give you our word that we will not gun down anyone. We only want Williams."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this? It is clear that you are not in this for the money," McGarrett deduced.

"You can ask Williams, who I am sure is listening in on the headset next you. He can tell you everything you need to know. One hour."

The line went dead after that and the lead detective turned to look at his Second-In-Command who was clearly deep in thought. Steve could tell that he was racking his brain in an attempt to find something that was vaguely familiar; all he needed as recognition of the sound of a voice. Sadly it was not forthcoming. After a few moments the younger man hit the stop button on the tape recorder before he took off the headset and threw in on the table as he ran his left hand through his hair.

Upon feeling the weight of Steve's eyes on him Danny looked up and McGarrett saw the note of fearful resignation in those clear blue eyes. He felt his chest constrict with emotion at the sense of acceptance the young man possessed. In such a situation it was perfectly okay to be scared, and it clicked in his mind that there was a very real possibility that Danny was not going to make it out of this ordeal alive. He pretended not to notice the way Dan's hand was shaking when he finally stopped the hair carding and he definitely did not notice the tremor of fear that threaded through the younger man's voice as he stood up and brushed roughly past him, saying something about making the necessary arrangements for the retrieval of George Novak's body.

Even though the telephone was right between them, Steve understood that Danny needed some personal space at that moment, and he was prepared to give the younger man as wide a berth as needed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"You can ask Williams, who I am sure is listening in on the headset next you. He can tell you everything you need to know. One hour," Findlay repeated tonelessly before he replaced the phone on the cradle. He stretched in his seat before turning his eyes to the place where the third shot had landed.

Cocking an eyebrow at the rather bizarre place the bullet lodged, Findlay stood up and walked over to the still smoking hole in the wall and bent down to run his fingers along the wooden panel absentmindedly, before peering to his left at the girl clutching her head between her hands and rocking backwards and forwards as she sobbed. From here the man could see that she was clearly stressed and anxious given the way she was shaking badly. His eyes travelled downward to the very nasty bullet graze running across the pale skin there, wincing at the rapidly pooling blood and the way the broken skin had been ripped. Shaking his head, he got up and walked over to Fletcher who was busy replacing the spent rounds in his shotgun. Findlay tapped the other man on the shoulder, causing him to jump.

"You could have aimed for the wall, the light, any other place. At some stage we will need to leave some of them alive so we can get the hell out of here afterwards!" Findlay roared as he tried his best to look down at his accomplice.

"Relax." Fletcher cooed back as he snapped the bullet chamber of the gun closed and glared at Findlay, "Take it easy, I won't kill all of them. I promise. Just need to stir the pigeons every once in a while. Can't have them roosting for too long."

Grinding his teeth in annoyance, Findlay had just seized the fabric of Fletcher's garish aloha shirt when there were the sounds of movement from outside. Both men turned to face the front of the bank as the sounds of gravel crunching under boots echoed loudly. Findlay shot a Fletcher a worried look before the smaller man headed over to the window and climbed onto the desk there. As he did he pulled out his gun from its hip holster and switched the safety off, before maneuvering the gun between the fabric first.

Pulling the blinds gently apart, he peered cautiously around the thick material. Direct sunlight hit him face on and he blinked rapidly for a few moments before narrowing his eyes and squinting into the brightness. A smug smile curled on his lip as he watched two men outside carry lift the bloodied carcass of the bank teller they had worked on this morning onto a stretcher before a large white sheet was draped over the body. While that occurred another five men stood with their guns aimed squarely at the front windows.

"All quiet on the Western front?" Fletcher asked gruffly, moving to the window to stand beside Findlay. He made sure that his face was obscured completely in shadow before he scrunched his eyes up and peered through the blinds. At the sight of the HDP officers lifting the stretcher up and the five guns aimed squarely at them he bit out a laugh, "They seriously think we are going to shoot them down?"

"Pigs' minds work in strange ways." Findlay replied as he laughed, "Look at the third guy on the right. He looks like he is trying to see who we are."

At Findlay's statement Fletcher directed his slate grey gaze to the man in question, and was pleased to recognize Detective Chin Ho Kelly and to his right Officer Duke Lukela of the HPD. Even though they were wearing bulletproof vests and helmets, he recognized their faces under the shadow from the brim of their hard hats. The grip on his gun tightened considerably at the sight of the two men before he forced himself to calm down. They were not the ones he was after; the only one he wanted right now was Danny Williams. Quickly glancing up at the clock above the bank tellers section ten minutes had elapsed. He closed the blinds down and pulled Findlay away from the window roughly, causing the smaller man to stumble. "Yeah, they look like they were trying to see who we were, but no luck in that respect," he snorted as Findlay wrestled out of his grip and moved to stand face to face, glaring at him.

"You don't have to manhandle me!" Findlay all but roared as he rubbed at his arm where Fletcher had grabbed it before, wincing at the tenderness, "No need for such violence!"

"You risked them IDing us. Look at the way Kelly and to some extent Lukela were trying to get a description of us." Fletcher growled before moving offensively close to his partner. A small part of him marveled at the way Findlay held his ground. "If they do at this stage it blows half the fun out of the water. Let the cops sweat for a while before we really turn up the heat."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

As soon as Duke and Chin came back from the retrieval operation Steve was on them when they rounded to the corner of the brick wall. Rushing to their side, the sound of crunching boots on the gravel caused the lead detective to look down at the sight of the white draped body and he shook his head at the meaninglessness of it all. He turned his gaze back to Chin and Duke, who were waiting expectantly for him.

"What have you got?" Steve asked as he began to pace a small path between the wall and the nearest HPD squad car. He paused to look at his two detectives. "Were you able to get a good look at who we are dealing with?" Disappointment bubbled up temporarily as the two other men shook their heads.

"Sorry Steve, they knew we would be waiting out there for them. We couldn't get a good look at them," Chin admitted. There was a pregnant pause before the older detective spoke again, "How is Danny doing?"

McGarrett sighed in frustration. His Second-In-Command was nowhere to be seen for the last ten minutes. After arranging for them to get George Novak's body from the front of the bank the young man had disappeared. "Alright, you tried your best. No I don't know where Danno is. I need to find him." Danny had a propensity towards self-blame which bordered on slightly obsessive and they had to find him before he did anything really foolish. Steve understood that emotions were powerful weapons that could be used against them and just how easy it was to get swept up by the powerful torrent. It was understandable, but not excusable. Looking down at the body on the stretcher, he ordered, "Get that body down to the Morgue to Dr Bergman. Tell him we need an answer as soon as possible."

"Right," the other three policemen confirmed. The dark haired detective watched as the stretcher was loaded onto the back of an ambulance, before one of the police officer's climbed in the back. The back door of the wagon slammed shut and the sirens were turned on as the vehicle moved away from the bank and began to race down the street at a very high speed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He needed to get away from the commotion for a bit otherwise he might very well do something stupid. As things were he knew that emotions were his weak suit and in the past they had been used relentlessly against him. If it wasn't for Steve's downright stubbornness then chances are he would no longer be Second-In-Command to Five-O. The dark haired man had point blank refused to accept his letters of resignation after the two shooting incidents, which was something for which he was very grateful.

The younger detective moved to sit down on the ground as he tried to sort out his thoughts, which were very muddled up at the moment. The hostage taker's words had haunted him and he grew increasingly frustrated at the fact that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't recognize that voice or anything that may give the identity of the people inside the bank away.

_'You can ask Williams, who I am sure is listening in on the headset next you. He can tell you everything you need to know.'_

The sudden blaring of the ambulance sirens caused the young man to almost jump out of his skin. He watched in horror as the white wagon rushed past him before turning left onto the street, heading towards the direction of the City Morgue. A fresh wave of guilt rose up to the fore at the thought that he had failed to take action and prevent the death of an innocent person who had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt his heart cleave at the sudden ache that blossomed with the tragedy of it all, and his part in it.

However, the other part of the problem was that if he was honest, he really didn't want to die. After having pulled through countless shootings and attempts on his life, he was able to appreciate the loveliness of the simpler things, like long walks on the shore in the morning when the air was still a bit cold to the enjoyment of sipping an icy cold beer at the end of a long tiring work day. Danny was only thirty-four years old - the concept of mortality really scared him. He had put up a brave face in front of Steve but he knew that his friend could see through it like the flimsy veneer that it was. Given what he had seen of the mangled corpse dumped at the front of the bank, he brought his arms up to his shoulders in an attempt to stave of the sudden rush of cold numbness that flowed over him, leaving him shivering.

The young man scrunched his eyes shut to ward off the suspicious stinging as the horrific sounds of screaming and the gunshots rung out in his head again, obscenely loud and in crystal clear detail. He bit his bottom lip as the air rushed out of his lungs when the very real reality that he was going to die sunk in. There had been a sort of quasi-acceptance before but now that the he had really accepted it he didn't want it. Fighting was moot at this point and even in his rational mind the simplest thing he could do to spare more bloodshed and violence would be to walk calmly to his own death. The hostage taker clearly meant business and it did not take a lot of detecting to see that the man had no respect for the sanctity of human life.

It should have been easy. He was a cop and cops' lives were disposable. He had come to terms with that fact with Ben that evening at Attic Bar, after the shooting of the Ricky boy. It should not have bothered him to this extent, yet why was he still trembling in fear? What held him back on this visceral plane? He didn't want to let go yet and despite that there was nothing he could do.

Danny was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps nor did he see the shadow grow bigger over his form as Steve finally found him and crouched down, before the lead detective laid a hand gently on his shoulder. The tenderness of the action caused Dan to look up, and he hated himself more for being this weak, for being so easy to read. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve and as such his vulnerability was in evidence right now.

If Steve saw this rawness and despair, he did not say a word about it and instead stated softly, "Danno, there is something I need to talk to you about before its too late."


End file.
